


I Didn't Run Away to Come Home the Same

by Bohobo



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Brothers, Gen, Long Lost/Secret Relatives, Multi, No relationship tags for now
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 12:53:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28688982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bohobo/pseuds/Bohobo
Summary: Neil Josten had a brother, well- had is now has, as after a raid that ended with the rest of Nathan Wesninski's men found and detained, little Damaryon Wesninski is found and brought back to the world of the living.
Relationships: Neil Josten & Original Male Character(s), The Foxes (All For The Game) & Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 48





	1. Life Is One of the Easiest Filters to Hide Behind

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time writing something on AO3, or anything AFTG related for that matter. So I apologise for any weird formatting issues, this site is too hard to handle sometimes.  
> Anyway, enjoy,,,I suppose.
> 
> Title quote is from the book 'From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler' by E.L. Konigsburg

“Please state your name and title.”

“If I lied, would this go any faster?”

“It would be a federal law.”

“My existence is a federal law.”

The officer gave him a look before placing his mug down. “Your sense of humour is non-existent.”

“Oh, that’s a relief.” The boy sat back, but his fingers kept making the arrhythmic tapping sounds. “I thought for a second I had something you didn’t.”

The officer looked him over, scarcely avoiding cursing the child in front of him. “You know, without a personal statement, you could be going to prison.”

“Could be, or should be?”

“That depends. Did you do anything that would be considered a felony?”

“Oh, like self-defence?” The boy smiled, “I think I did a lot of that.”

“Is that a confession?”

The boy cocked his head to the side, “possibly.” Then his eyes turned to the small black box in the centre of the table. “Is that on?”

“It is not,” then the man looked at the camera on the wall and his partner stood up, who reached up to turn it off.

Catching on, the boy’s smile widened slightly. “Oh, you’re not normal cops.”

“Agent Stymes, this is Special Agent Weathers.”

“Weather-Stymes.”

The officer ignored him, “We don’t care for any criminal offences against you, only towards Nathan Wesninski.”

“My father,” the boy nodded and sat up, giving them a smile. “Was a nice man, he didn’t even know how to hurt a…child.”

Stymes, “were you in any contact with your father this past year?”

“I’ve only seen my father twice this year. Once; when I looked in the mirror this morning. Twice; when you gave me that lovely picture of him.” At Weather’s not-so subtle eye roll, the boy went on. “He was in prison, wasn’t he? I couldn’t have seen him even if I wanted to.”

“Have you been in contact with Lola Malcolm?”

“Yeah, sure.” The boy’s fingers tapped on the metal table, “she was like a mother to me. This can answer your previous question; I never hurt anybody, not without motive of course.”

“Go on.”

“I am, I am.” The boy grinned at the officers, “I never talked to my father, I was part of Lola’s ‘clean-up crew’ if you know what I mean. I was in Lola’s warm embrace when the black birdies upstate needed a bit of home cleaning.”

Stymes knew who exactly the ‘black birdies’ were, but Weathers hadn’t been given the Pandora’s Box of secrets. “Birdies?”

The boy gave a fake look of shock, but it passed when his lip stretched up a moment later. “Oh, you don’t know.” He looked to Stymes, “giving a newbie my case. You like ruining people’s lives...?”

“It doesn’t outright affect us.”

“Aha, you say that, but…” he gave a nonchalant shrug, letting his sentence disappear in the air.

Weathers muttered something then spoke up, but was quickly shut down by Stymes.

A few questions passed before Stymes reached the topic of ‘constitution’. He turned the audio recorder on for this, and got Weathers to reach back up to the corner-camera. “State your name and title.”

The boy smiled, “have we not done this already?”

Stymes looked at him through narrowed eyes, “name, and title.”

“Damaryon Wesninski, second son of the notorious Butcher of Baltimore.”

-

The ‘interview’ took about three hours. With Damaryon’s two-word sentences, the ‘Special Agents’ quickly grew agitated. Weathers left when the door to the room had been knocked on. Damaryon smiled at his departure and sent him a ‘good night’.

“It is night, isn’t it?”

Stymes nodded and wrote something down, “last question.”

“Oh, we’ve reached the end? That’s a shame.”

“What do you know about Nathaniel Wesninski.”

The name stopped Damaryon for a moment, then his fingers started tapping on the metal table. “That guy? Ask away and I might answer your questions. Keyword; ‘might’.”  
Stymes absentmindedly nodded, writing something again. “What was his relationship with Nathan Wesninski.”

“Dunno. Like I said before, I rarely saw my father. But, from what I heard from Lola these past few weeks, he had a nice friendly family reunion with our father. Uncle Stuart came, just as dearest daddy got released from prison.” This is where, if not for his cuffed wrists, Damaryon would place his jaw in his hand and give the officer innocent eyes. “It’s too bad I missed out, would’ve loved to seen Nate’s reaction.”

“And what was your relationship with your brother.” Stymes still hadn’t looked up.

“We came from the same womb? Yeah no, his mother took him and ran. I haven’t seen him since.”

Stymes didn’t hesitate his next words, “there’s someone here you might want to talk to.”

“A visitor?” The boy’s eyes widened in mock shock, “I wonder who it could be...” 

Stymes tapped something on the table, then stood up. His chair grinding across the floor, which was loud enough to drown out Damaryon’s tapping fingernails.  
A moment later, an identical boy walked in. Though he had a few differences to the one sitting down, if one screwed their eyes- they wouldn’t be able to tell either boy apart.  
Speaking of eyes, two pairs of shockingly bright blue eyes met. If the world was slightly more fantastical, electricity would be bouncing off of the connection their eyes held.  
The boy already sitting down was the first to speak, his cold lips slowly moving into a smile. “Oh look, it’s Nathaniel!”

Nathaniel flinched slightly, “It’s Neil, now.”

Damaryon smiled and leaned across the table, his fingers tapping against the metal drew slightly louder. “We’re extending the family reunion, are we? All we need now is precious Mary.”

Neil took the seat Stymes had vacated a few minutes ago, “please don’t do this.”

“Do what?”

tap

“You know.”

“Know what?”

Neil swallowed the lump that had forced it’s way upwards. “Damaryon.”

tap, tap

“That’s my name, Nathaniel.”

If Nathaniel was more like Nathan, he would have shot Damaryon down- shut him with a few piercing words, but years apart had made these two boy’s connection with each other taut with uncertainty.

Neil lowered his head, not wanting to look into those blue eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Why apologise? You never did anything wrong.”

Neil sucked in a breath through his teeth, keeping his eyes down. He found it easier to look in his brother’s reflection through the aluminium table. “I ran.”

Through the reflection, Neil saw a shark’s mouth.

“…You ran.” Damaryon leaned back, and his eyes and his smile left the reflection, letting Neil take a deep breath. “It’s funny how you’re great at things that are utterly useless.”

“Running isn’t useless.”

“No, not to you. But what about Mary, how good was she at running?”

The reflection wasn’t making things easier, eyes like his fathers were still eyes like his fathers, looking through a mirror didn’t change that fact. “Is that all you have to say? How our mother was good at protecting herself?”

Protecting herself, Damaryon nearly spat the words out, but refrained. “I thought you hated talking about yourself. Or am I wrong? Have you changed, Nathaniel? Have you grown into a person I’m not familiar with? Has your mother changed you so much that you don’t dare look at me when I talk to you?”

Neil rushed to his feet without replying to his brother’s words. They weren’t questions, they were knives that had been trained to know exactly where the weakest spot was.

“Do I get a goodbye this time?”

Neil stopped short. The door had opened and the federal agent was asking with his eyes why Neil wasn’t strapped to the chair along with his brother.

“I’m not good at goodbyes.”

The door clicked shut, and Damaryon ignored Stymes’s searching eyes.

“Just like Mary; bad at goodbyes.”


	2. Speak of the Devil

New days brings new opportunities, so somebody said.

This day gave Damaryon one he didn’t expect.

“Sign.”

The man in front of him was unfamiliar. Damaryon was in no mood for games; sleeping among sweaty men wasn’t something he was used to. Sleeping among sweaty woman- that was a different story.

“I don’t remember asking for a lawyer.”

“I’m not a lawyer, far from it.”

Damaryon looked the man over. He wasn’t someone Damaryon would notice in a crowd, not even with the flame tattoos that covered the man’s forearms.

“Then what are you? And do you always ask delinquents to sign your papers?”

“You’re not a delinquent, but yes I do.”

“Interesting career choice.” Damaryon slid the paper closer to him and spun it around. He only got to the second line before looking back up, “I don’t play sports.”

“Your brother does.”

“Ah.” Finally realising what was going on, Damaryon sat back, crossing his arms and giving the man a wide smile that replicated his father’s and brother’s. “Nathaniel has a wild imagination, and is quite optimistic.”

“I considered him the opposite.”

Damaryon zoned him out and finished reading. It was quite an interesting read, but also highly unbelievable. “Well, Mr Wymack, is it? Why in the Malcolm name, would you sign a future convicted felon.”

“You haven’t been convicted yet.”

“Yet, but it’s sure to happen.”

Wymack made a sound, something between a groan and a cough. “Your brother thinks you’re innocent.”

“What is it they say about being guilty until proven otherwise?”

"Innocent until proven guilty.”

Not listening, Damaryon nodded. “Right, right. Well, Mr Vincent. I am not someone whose body allows them to shoot a few balls down a court. Why don’t you pass this along to the next jailbird and let me get on with my sad little life.”

“I’m not giving you up.”

“Oh. Oh wow, you sounded just like someone I know right then. Correction: knew.” Despite Damaryon’s widened eyes that seemed to hold more mock than truth, he was actually being truthful for once in his life.

Damaryon Wesninski wasn’t someone to pity. He had chosen to dug his own grave when he had been given a shovel, and he had always known he was expected to bury himself too when the time came.

But those words this David Wymack had given, they were words that Damaryon had heard before in moments of hope and wistfulness. Not to him, of course. But when Mary had crept down the stairs those years ago, her hand wound tightly around a little Nathaniel Wesninski, Damaryon had heard those words whispered.

“I’m not giving you up.”

It was funny, really. When Nathaniel had heard those words when he was ten, he was immediately brought freedom. Now, nearly ten years later, Damaryon was gifted with the same words. But unlike Nathaniel, he was never going to be free.

“You need a better hobby. Maybe even a different career. It doesn’t seem like this is the best option for an old man like yourself.”

“And you have the best experience with that?”

Damaryon nodded, almost cheerfully. “Yeah, I had the best career. But I don’t think Cleaning is the best option for you, Mister.”

Wymack’s expression didn’t change, much to Damaryon’s disappointment. “Sign the paper.”

“Is it too late to ask what’s in it for me?”

Wymack tapped the line where it stated a few pointless words. Damaryon hadn’t read the paper completely, but Wymack’s finger brought his attention to the words. “It’s like community service. Even if you didn’t commit a crime, your presence when they arrested Lola Malcolm still counts to causes of suspicion-.”

“-Aha, because I’m an innocent little bean-.”

“-Signing with the Foxes should be a no-brainer. But, considering you’re related to Neil, I’ll give you a few days for the information to sink it.”

Damaryon looked back up, “I’m going to take that as you saying I’m weighing my options, not as a stab to my intelligence.”

Wymack stood up, “take it as you will. Think it over, but just so you know. I’m not letting you go, and neither is your brother.”

“He sure has turned a new leaf.”

Wymack looked him over, clearly thinking something over. “More so than you know.”

-

It took Damaryon two weeks to sign the form. Neil had made an appearance the day after Wymack met Damaryon. Funnily enough, he was about to ask Stymes for the form, but then Neil had shown up. As Damaryon could no longer rile his father up, his look-a-like was the next best thing.

Neil showed up six more times after that. Damaryon won’t verbally admit it, but when his brother didn’t visit him for a few days, he itched to sign the damn form.

And just like he thought, signing the contract was like a sigil for summoning Neil.

“You signed.”

Damaryon nodded, twisting his cuffs tighter around his wrists out of boredom. “Is that what I did? Hah, I thought it was for extra lessons in art class. I sure do miss art class, especially sculpting, I enjoyed sculpting.”

Neil let his brother talk. He hadn’t heard Damaryon’s voice in nearly a decade, and hadn’t thought of him in probably the same time. The last time he thought of his brother, was when he realised his mother had forgotten his other half. That was when his mother had stopped and finally taken a breather, and took the chance to tell Neil to shut up and forget about his brother. It wasn’t until after the FBI had contacted Neil with the finding of his twin brother did he finally let Damaryon back into his thoughts.

Finally, over the shock of seeing his brother again, Neil realised a few things. One was that their scars were the same. Similar was the better word, but even then it wasn’t the right word. They say no scar is the same. Everyone goes through different trials and have different experiences, so essentially no scar is the same. Lola had taken great precision when she had been carving into Nathaniel’s skin, enough precision and force Neil now realised why.

Neil and Damaryon’s scars were the same, only the emotional ones were different.

“Do you enjoy sculpting?”

Damaryon had asked the question right when Neil came back to the present. The question might have been innocent enough, but the words were chosen with purpose.

Their father was the Butcher of Baltimore after all, sculpting was his passion.

Neil never replied, so Damaryon went on. “That’s a shame, I thought you would’ve been a great sculpture. Like Pablo.”

“Pablo was a painter, he never sculpted.”

Rolling his eyes, Damaryon narrowed his eyes to the man who had tagged along with Neil. The man was unfamiliar, and Damaryon hadn’t spared him a glance when Neil rocked in before. But now that he had spoken up…

“Oh look, you’ve brought a little friend.”

“Yeah, he’s ah-.”

“I don’t care about his name, Nathaniel.” Damaryon leaned forward, his cuffs clanging against the table. “What would your mother think, Nathaniel, he looks like a distraction. Distractions will get you killed.”

“Only the bad kind.”

Damaryon didn’t get the reference, but quickly realised his brother was making a joke. He laughed, “you made a joke, Mary won’t like that.”

Both knew their mother had died. One had been there when it had happened, the other had heard it from a reliable source who got it straight from the other brother.

“Not Mary; our mother.”

“Mary, mother of God. Oh give me strength.” Damaryon cited, “She’s your mother, Nathaniel. She made that clear when she took you and ran.”

“She didn’t have a choice,” Neil murmured.

“Everybody has a choice,” Damaryon smiled, clanging his cuffs on the metal table. “Isn’t it funny. You stick up for her, but she never did anything good for you. All she did was bring you pain and torment and you still blindly follow her empty words.”

Neil whispered, “I don’t follow her words anymore, Damaryon.”

“Is that so.” Damaryon sat back. “Pray tell, dearest brother. What have you thought up for yourself?”

Neil thought for a moment, then spoke, his voice slowing on some syllables. “I came back for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can see my criminology major's doing me good. Also, for the sake of the story; Pablo never sculped.


	3. The Foxhole Court At It's Finest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damaryon takes a little visit to the Foxhole Court.

The Foxhole Court was a sight for sore eyes.

Not because of the repulsing amount of orange that covered everything excluding the grass; but the people that the court itself held in its walls.

Damaryon had never been in contact with people his own age, nonetheless people who knew about his father and his mobster background.

But the Foxhole Court was a place for new beginnings, as Wymack had hinted at. Damaryon didn’t know how to play the blasted sport named ‘Exy, and had never been given the chance to. But now, with his past life behind him and a new one in front- it was a straight turn of a knife.

“Pretty sight,” Damaryon kicked the orange wall, watching Neil glower from his peripheral vision, punching in the code. Neil’s little blonde friend had driven himself and the two twins to the court, only to be swamped with people Damaryon didn’t recognise after walking inside.

His new teammates all introduced themselves, excluding a brooding brunette and a duplicate of the friend Neil had brought along.

“So, what exactly is the plan?” Dan Wilds asked after Wymack had walked in, handing Damaryon a sheet of paper with random numbers and words sprawled on the pages.

“The plan, is to keep Neil’s alter ego out of as much trouble as possible. Good plan in theory, but I’m starting to think the execution is pointless.”

“Always have hope, Vincent, you never know when things can turn around.” Damaryon handed the sheet of paper to Neil, who scanned it.

“He’s actually going to play?” Allison said, raising her finely groomed brow, “How do you know he isn’t going to throw the game in the middle of a match?”

“Doesn’t matter,” broody brunette spoke up, “he’s never going to play, much less step foot in this room ever again. He’s useless, and probably can’t even hold a racket.”

“I can hold something very similar to a knife.”

Broody-man scowled even deeper- if that was even possible. “I wasn’t talking to you.”

“Here we go.”

Apparently Wymack had heard this argument before, “No, you two shut your god damned mouths and listen to me. Damaryon, I’m not expecting you to play, but for the SCSTP to loosen your reins before your trial, you need to at least know how to throw a ball. I don’t want to hear another word come out of your mouth, Day.” Wymack ignored BB and looked back to Damaryon, “as for rooming situations, you’ve already been placed in Room 317, decisions been made.”

“You aint hearing any complaints from me, Wymack.”

“Uh,” Nicky cut in, "small problem, Coach. I’m in that room.”

“I forgot to tell you, you’re moving out.”

“Into the streets? You can’t do that to me, and when did this happen?”

“The decision was made without you, unless there’s a reason why you won’t move in with Matt and Aaron, shut up.”

Damaryon noticed the names being said and took a quick look around the room, “Who’s room am I moving into?”

“Your brother’s.” Was all Wymack said before slamming his folder shut, already knowing he didn’t want to be in the room for whatever bullshit Damaryon was going to pull.

“My brother, huh, how strange. I didn’t realise I needed to depend on him in this lifetime.”

“You don’t. But I know better than to put you in a room with Aaron.” The boy in question didn’t seem to hear Wymack, as he looked to be miles away from the conversation, staring into the back wall with his arms wound around himself tightly.

“I doubt Andrew will be any better,” Allison muttered, “lest forget Kevin.”

“Moving on, you start tomorrow, Damaryon. Ask one of your new teammates to give you a ride, and fill that damn form out unless you want the name ‘Josten’ on your back.”

“Heavens no!” Damaryon took the sheet back from Neil, “You don’t need two Jostens, trust me on this, Dave.”


	4. Close Your Eyes, This Will Be Over Shortly

Damaryon had been given two things that day; a racket, and a uniform with the name ‘Josten’ printed on the back. Both coloured with an unnatural amount of orange, which was far too bright to the eyes.

“It’s only for the day,” Neil had replied, already knowing a questioning-glare/frown would appear on his brother’s face. “You still need to fill that form out.”

_Yeah yeah, Damaryon’ll get to that later._

“Remind me again-,” Kevin was cut off by Dan, which saddened Damaryon slightly- he wanted to know what Kevin was going to complain about this time.

“Put your gear on and be on the Court in five.”

With that, Damaryon shrugged on his temporary uniform, which was tighter in some places than others, and shouldered past Nicky, who made a knowing sound.

The Court was what Damaryon expected it to be, Orange, with a hint of white. Albite unsightly, it had a certain charm to it that Damaryon quite liked.

Kevin, unfortunate little Kevin, had been tasked with showing Damaryon the ins and outs of Exy- being an ex-assistant Coach and all, he was the most qualified, but not the most open.

“Don’t even bother, just go back to the bench.” Ah, his assessment/training was already complete!

“I would love to, I would, but I fear for you. Both your Coach and Captain don’t seem to like their orders being ignored, and I would hate to get you in trouble.” Speaking of, Dan was currently looking at them with her hands on her hips. Despite having a helmet on, Damaryon could feel her eyes.

“Cut the acuity. Nobody here is expecting anything of you but failure. You’re just wasting everyone’s time and there’s no point when you’re just going to go back to whatever hole you climbed out of.”

Damaryon felt his lips pull back as he faced Kevin and took a step forward. “You have a mouth on you. Did Tetsuji teach you that? Or was it Riko, I heard his temper was worse than his father’s.”

Before Kevin could reply, Damaryon felt a hand tugging on his shoulder, pulling him backwards until his shoulder hit the wall. He was now ten feet from Kevin with his brother and his brother’s friend between them. Nicky quickly came jogging over, “oo, I wouldn’t do that again, ‘Maryon, Andrew is touchy about his property.”

“Sounds like a Moriyama notion, must’ve rubbed onto him.”

“Damaryon.”

Damaryon looked around him, his new teammates were all on the Court, and were all watching him. Damaryon didn’t know why, but he didn’t like the way they were watching him. Apparently the ‘M’ word was taboo here.

“So sorry, dearest brother, I got alittle too carried away there.”

Kevin scoffed and bent to pick up one of the balls at his feet. With no warning, he threw it towards Damaryon. Fortunately, he hadn’t been watching, so the ball flew past Damaryon and hit the wall.

Or maybe that was on purpose, “you’re meant to catch it. Or are you that-,” Kevin barely missed the ball that Damaryon threw towards him, this time using the racket that felt unnatural in his hands.

“I thought you couldn’t play?” Neil asked, taking a step away from Damaryon when he hit the ball aside.

“It’s just throwing a ball, **Josten** , it isn’t that difficult.”

-

“What to pick…” Damaryon twisted his pen around his finger, tapping his other hand on the table he sat at. Through his peripheral vision, he could see Kevin throwing looks his way- thus caused Damaryon to swap his empty hand with the pen.

Behind him, he could hear Nicky mumbling something, possibly stubbing his toe, as he hauled three boxes of –well his things –into the hallway. Damaryon would’ve loved to take a nap, but first he needed to pick his classes.

“Bye, guys.” Nicky sniffed, grabbing his last item from the entertainment unit. He waved solemnly at Neil and closed the door softly behind him.

Like clockwork, Kevin stood up from the dining table and carried his laptop into the bedroom. Damaryon following closely behind him, kicking the door shut behind him.

Kevin barely looked at him as he sat down. Nicky had left a spare set of sheets folded on the bed above Kevin’s, so Damaryon assumed that was his bed for the term, year, whatever.

Ignoring the bottom ladder, Damaryon stepped on the mattress below his own bed, barely missing Kevin’s foot. He heard a scoff as he pulled himself up, stretching the sheets around his mattress.

Damaryon heard springs pushing and only had a second to realise Kevin was getting up. He slid off the bed and landed in front of Kevin, “Oh yeah, I forgot to ask, though I believe I already know the answer. Why’d the Moriyamas throw you out? Was it because of that ski trip accident? Or did you just run away?”

Damaryon had half a second warning before Kevin’s right fist came raging towards his face. He winced when he heard the bedframe hit the wall. “Y’know, you and Nathaniel have two things in common; you both run away from your problems.”

“That’s enough.”

Damaryon backed away again, not wanting to be trapped between the bedframe and Kevin. “Oh, is that how it went? You had enough, and a Moriyama didn’t like your tone. Let me guess, there was no ski trip.” Damaryon pointed to Kevin’s hand that was wrapped in a black support band, “Riko broke it. You pushed him a bit too hard, and he decided to bite back.”

His brother must have heard Kevin, because Damaryon felt a hand pulling at his arm from behind. He shrugged it off and smiled at Kevin, laughing when he saw his expression.

“I said enough.”

Usually, this was where Damaryon would’ve stopped. He didn’t particularly like pushing anything too much, but pushing the Kevin Day was very much like getting to his brother.

“Oh yes, I hit the nail right on the head with that one, didn’t I?”

Neil behind him didn’t seem to care as he wrapped his hand back around Damaryon’s bicep and pulled. Kevin had pulled up his bandaged left hand this time, and narrowly missed.

“Didn’t anyone tell you to keep your mouth shut?”

This came from Neil’s friend, who was now between Damaryon and Kevin.

“No, Lola liked it when I ran my mouth.”

Damaryon you didn’t have time to duck this time, as Kevin’s fist came flying towards him. He heard the cartilage of his nose snapping and a rush of warmth suddenly flowing into his mouth.

“Whoops,” Damaryon wiped his mouth, smearing what he knew was blood around his mouth, “I guess I can’t play tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna be a bit busy in the next week, but I never figured out an uploading schedule so nothing'll be any different.
> 
> τα λέμε


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